


Rock-a-by

by orphan_account



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Breastfeeding, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy, implied mechpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Soundwave and Motormaster are encased in debris, with Motormaster rapidly losing fuel. Soundwave does what any good superior officer would.





	Rock-a-by

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt: https://tfanonkink.dreamwidth.org/26881.html?replyto=16200449
> 
> Please assume that breastfeeding and carrying and everything else is implied and normal.

It was a pathetic situation to be in. Soundwave onlined to the weight of burnt and smoldering rubble, and another body, atop his own.

Soundwave identified the body of Motormaster bearing down on him. Reconnecting his memory relay of the last several hours gave indication that Motormaster had thrust himself on top of Soundwave in order to shield him from the blast of a poorly placed Autobot bomb.

While Soundwave was grateful for the fact of, well, being alive, he highly doubted Motormaster had done it out of any real care for his spark. No doubt the head of Menasor had protected him in an attempt to garner favor with Megatron rather than recognize Soundwave’s importance to the cause.

Regardless of the reason, Soundwave was functioning. Only time would remain to show whether Motormaster was.

Dislodging the massive mech was a chore to Soundwave’s sore chassis, even moreso with the debris above them. Soundwave placed a servo over his chest plates, a full ache from his fuel pouches informing him he would need to drain. An unfortunate annoyance that would have to be dealt with later.

Once Motormaster clanged to the side with a low groan to indicate his own survival, Soundwave took his chance to monitor their surroundings. They were sheltered from the elements, but beyond that one pro Soundwave could only deduce they were trapped beneath rubble. Lucky as they were, the debris had formed a small enclave around them.

Soundwave opened his communications board and sent out a radio signal on all frequencies populated by Decepticons.

_‘SOS: Soundwave and Motormaster functional. Trapped beneath debris at ground zero of explosion at human city of Toronto.’_

Only static greeted him, and Soundwave left his communications board open in the background of his processor. He turned his attention to Motormaster who was stirring, his groans of pain becoming louder.

“Recommendation: do not move until I have completed total frame check for damage.” Soundwave let his slender digits slide along Motormaster’s chassis. There were superficial cracks and dents, but as far as he could tell Motormaster would live. Whether that was good or not, considering Motormaster’s charges had been the ones to accidentally set off the explosion in the first place, remained to be seen. “Inquiry: have your gestalt mates survived?”

Motormaster grunted, his engine sputtering before he managed to groan out, “Yeah. Those scrapheaps are alive somewhere.”

“Affirmative. Soundwave: will relay to SOS. I have already sent out for aid.” As Soundwave updated his SOS he continued his check of Motormaster’s frame. As he once more set his communications board to the back of his processor he came upon a leak around Motormaster’s fuel tank.

“Motormaster: must be very still.” Soundwave unsubspaced a cube of sealant and used a liberal amount of the foam-like substance to seal the cracks along Motormaster’s tank. “Motormaster: has sustained critical damage to fuel tank. Topical sealant: temporary. You require immediate medical attention.”

“Frelling Autobots,” Motormaster muttered, gritting his dentae. “What’s the damage?”

“Damage: extensive.” Soundwave felt beneath Motormaster to confirm the puddle of energon beneath them. “Inquiry: fuel gauge?”

Motormaster was silent before he quietly admitted, “8%. Still dropping. Slowing down, though.”

Soundwave calculated exactly how long Motormaster was likely to last, and then how likely it was they would be rescued before he ran dry. The odds weren’t good. Soundwave hadn’t yet received word that his SOS had been received, and until then they would have to it tight.

“Could move all this scrap. Get us out.” Motormaster tried to sit up, only for Soundwave to shove him back down.

“Negative. Fuel: insufficient.” Soundwave knelt carefully beside Motormaster, then eyeing the rest of tiny enclave. “We will wait. Orders: inform me of when you approach 1% fuel capacity.”

Motormaster, while disgruntled, did not question him. He powered down his higher functions to rest his processor and his frame.

Soundwave sat and waited. His fueling pouches were becoming sore and heavy, a discomfort he had become accustomed to dispelling easily with Ratbat’s emergence. Without his youngest symbiont to drain his excess of fuel he was stuck, his pouches swelling.

“Motormaster.”

Soundwave retrieved no response, and revved his engine aggressively, spirited along by the discomfort in his chassis. The rubberized film that protected his pouches was straining now, stretched towards the end of its capacity. He needed relief before they burst, and he was the one leaking energon all over.

It was a logical conclusion to reach, Soundwave told himself. He readied his fuel pouches for draining, and placed a hand along Motormaster’s pauldron. “Motormaster. Soundwave: has alternative source of fuel.”

Motormaster twitched his optics to meet Soundwave’s visor. “There’s a catch, ain’t there? Well I’m not gonna drink my own oil waste for the dregs of energy if that’s what you’re getting at. Don’t care what that Grills guy said.”

“Negative. Means of consumption merely… unorthodox.” Soundwave refused to allow shame or embarrassment to color his offer. It was a natural sequence of events that happened through his frame, and right now it was an opportunity to save a dying soldier. This was war.

Motormaster watched as Soundwave parted his chest plates with delicate care, the hue of his optics deepening as he laid sight on Soundwave’s fueling pouches and the carefully guarded spark between them. Soundwave dared to say he even saw the mech’s mouth water. A host mech was always in abundance of fuel; Soundwave often felt guilty that he got nearly triple the rations of other officers, but Megatron insisted he always be able to feed his symbionts naturally.

“I’m not really into this,” Motormaster grumbled under his breath, though Soundwave saw the way he hungered for the fuel he was offering. “Don’t know what kinda mech you take me for. Know I was forged here and all, but I’m wise that this ain’t natural for our kind.”

“Negative: Fueling from host mecha very natural. Motormaster: feeling uncomfortable. Soundwave: understands. However, fuel is fuel. Ultimatum: starve, or suffer momentary embarrassment.” Soundwave himself was a bit flustered at the idea of having an adult mech feeding from his pouches. It was a very personal and intimate thing he shared only with his symbionts. He wasn’t sure how it would feel for an adult mech to suckle from him. However, he had a duty to the cause. Megatron could not lose his king of the road. Soundwave would make sure of that.

Soundwave moved to seat himself beside Motormaster, letting the mech have his space until he was given the go ahead. “Soundwave: will assure you are fueled. Motormaster: must only consent.”

It took the mech a long moment to struggle with his internal thoughts, before he said, “Fuel is fuel.”

Soundwave nodded, silent as he helped Motormaster to lay across his lap like he did with his symbionts. Ratbat was still small enough for Soundwave to cradle him, and that was his first instinct. He had to tell himself that he was assisting a fellow decepticon, and not a youngling he had created from his own frame, if just to stop himself from stroking Motormaster’s audials like he would his young.

Motormaster closed his eyes, something that Soundwave found he appreciated. Soundwave helped guide Motormaster’s helm to his pouch, and noticed the way the head of Menasor parted his derma just slightly. Motormaster licked his lips as Soundwave drew him closer, and it was that moment he realized Motormaster had opened his eyes again.

As Motormaster’s lips closed around the rubber nipple of his fueling pouch, Soundwave realized with an embarrassed rev of his engine that he was enjoying having the larger mech in his arms.

They stayed like that as Motormaster fueled, suckling from Soundwave’s pouches; with Soundwave’s arms securely around Motormaster’s upper half, cradling his helm against the crook of his arm. In the dark of their prison, Soundwave could say it was even comforting. The discomfort of full pouches was leaving him, and the longer Motormaster drank, the stronger his suckling became.

As Soundwave ran dry, he awkwardly came to realize his other pouch was still significantly full. Much of the pressure had been alleviated through his first pouch being drained, but the discomfort was still prevalent. He rattled his engines before motioning to his other pouch. Motormaster was fueled sufficiently now, there was no danger of starvation. And yet he said, “Would you?”

Motormaster didn’t hesitate, moving a large servo up to twist Soundwave’s body just enough that he could reach the other nipple. He was tougher this time, suckling harder and even baring his dentae against Soundwave’s rubbery protoform. It wasn’t too long before that loosened, and Motormaster relaxed in his superior officer’s arms.

As he lost himself in the feeling of his pouches being drained, Soundwave was reminded of his young symbiont, who relied on the fuel within him to feed. He pressed against Motormaster with more disappointment than he anticipated. “Ratbat: also requires fuel.”

Motormaster’s engine rumbled, but he pulled away, wiping his derma on the back of his hand. It was then Soundwave realized he had fallen into recharge, like one of his own younglings would often do. Motormaster pushed himself out of Soundwave’s lap, energized enough that he could move by himself. “Yeah… you got it.”

Soundwave could see the hunger there for more, despite how Motormaster was most likely fuller now than he had been at the start of this mission. Soundwave found himself missing the larger mech in his arms.

As he was closing his chest plates, sunlight burst through a showering of debris as rubble was hefted off the small enclave. Soundwave looked up to see Megatron looming over the opening, a large servo curling out of the light. A holy savior, in the eyes of the downtrodden, Soundwave thought.

“Would you like a hand, old friend?”

Soundwave took it without a second thought.

* * *

Soundwave was released from the medbay with a clean bill of health and send on his way with a cube of medical grade energon. After being reunited with his symbionts and giving Ratbat his usual feeding, he got himself ready for recharge to let his frame rest.

With all his cassettes safely tucked into his dock, Soundwave heard a ping at his door. He opened the door, fully expecting it to be either Megatron or Starscream to inform him of an emergency.

Instead, Motormaster stood there, shuffling on his pedes.

“Motormaster: requires assistance?”

“Nah.” Motormaster paused, taking a glance around. “I’m just… thirsty.”

Soundwave nodded, and took a step aside. “Soundwave: has solution.”


End file.
